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If I had a son …

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My buddy Mike, who runs a tree-trimming service in Pflugerville, read my blogs and offered to give me a job cutting trees and hauling dead wood if I can’t think of ways to keep myself busy.  Mike, if you’re reading this, you have no idea how tempting that sounds 🙂

school-boy-398352_1280My first job was at a video rental store.  Remember, that used to be a thing.  If I have a son (big if) I think I’ll encourage him to get a summer job in construction.

I could name you all the Bond villains by heart and all the winners of the Best Supporting Actor Oscar.  Sexy, right?

But ask me to fix a broken garage door or lift an armchair up two flights of stairs … well, can’t we just call someone?

I know working construction would have made me handier and stronger.

I’ve gotten a lot more handy since starting to work from home.  When I was building the DVB business, what better way to give my brain a rest (or just procrastinate) than to learn by trial-and-error how to tighten up a loose toilet seat?  Or learn how to find a stud and then drive a nail into it?  (I know – rocket science, right?  Did I mention that Dianne Weist won two Oscars for Woody Allen movies??)

And if I decide that I’m a little flabby and it’s time to get back the old six-pack that I never had in the first place?  What do I get to do?  Join a gym and wait my turn at the squat rack, then endure the indignity of pulling off 75% of the weight plates the last guy squatted.

Yeah, I get it – do your own workout, it’s a process, nobody’s judging, etc …

bodybuilder-646482_1280I just can’t help thinking the gym would be more fun if I had an adolescence’ worth of big lumber-lifting muscles to build on, rather than trying to start from scratch with a body worthy of a pie-eating contest.

I remember the two weeks I was a member at Planet Fitness on Slaughter.  I don’t like that gym.  They brand themselves as “the Judgement-Free Zone.”

What that basically means is that dudes are not allowed to wear a tank top (it might make less-muscular dudes jealous); and that if you grunt too much as you lift (you know, on the off-chance that you’re working hard) the staff can activate the “Lunk Alarm,” a flashing light with a loud siren, to shame you.  I never saw the Lunk Alarm engaged … and I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if it ever was.

What other things can I force my hypothetical son to do?

I’m thinking partner dancing.  When and if he decides he likes girls, he’ll thank me.  I took a few lessons with Kelly and felt like such a gorilla.  The guys who can really cut a rug, man … they look awesome.  Maybe that’s how I should use my DVB-retirement … become Lord of the Dance.

So that’s it, son.  You’re taking Salsa and Tango lessons during the school year, and working construction in the summer.  It’s settled.

I’m going to be the best father.

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